


Target of Opportunity

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Bodyguard, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Children, Conversations, Crossover, Dark Past, Dysfunctional Family, Espionage, Gen, Party, Past Violence, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot races to stop an assassination attempt against Damien Moreau, only to realize too late that coming at Moreau directly is no longer the most efficient way to destroy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target of Opportunity

Damien Moreau was a man who liked his routine, and as long as Eliot was in residence Sunday evenings belonged to the two of them. Following the family meal, Damien would bid good night to his wife and children, and he and Eliot would retreat to the study. There Damien would enjoy his favorite cognac, Eliot his beer, and they would talk about whatever topic suited Damien’s fancy.

Lately their conversations would unfold over a game of chess. Eliot had a passing knowledge of the game when he came to work for Moreau, and Damien had gladly taken up the challenge of helping him improve. “You have it in you to be a true leader,” he’d said. “Chess will refine your instincts, make you unstoppable.”

Eliot took these kinds of pronouncements from Moreau with the proverbial grain of salt, but he was never one to turn down the opportunity to improve any of his skills. And playing against Damien added a pleasantly distracting undercurrent to their get-togethers as they talked about the guards, Damien’s clients, his rivals and his plans for the future.

"What do you know about this Russian woman Chapman has been mooning about?” Damien asked one such evening, in the middle of executing a move to corner Eliot’s queen. “Natalia something or other?" He shifted his bishop, and then settled back in his chair.

Eliot surveyed the chessboard, trying to remember if any of the regular guards had said something relevant. “I’ve been working on security for the Dubai trip,” he admitted finally, backing his queen out of harm’s way. “Has something specific caught your attention?”

It was midway through his next move before Damien finally answered. “He goes calf-eyed over her when he thinks no one is watching. We’d been talking about promoting him to your second – I’d like to know if that’s still a viable course of action.”

 _Loyalty to the boss and the cause before all else._ Eliot couldn’t keep the slight sneer of contempt off his face as he shifted his knight. Chapman had been in Moreau’s service longer than Eliot had – if anyone besides Eliot should have known what a jealous master Damien was, it was Myles. “The engagement party for the Frazier girl,” he said, taking his hand off the piece and easing back from the table. “You’ve already said any of the guards not on duty can bring dates if they like.” He paused, meeting Moreau’s eyes. “Check.”

“I had thought to give you the evening off,” Moreau countered. “Juliana has that cousin from Greece, after all…”

“I already revised the schedule,” Eliot said, refusing to rise to the bait about Theresa Andropolous. “You’re not going into a situation with that many variables without me watching over you.”

Damien studied him for a long moment, and Eliot couldn’t tell if he was surprised, angry, or something in between. “You forget your place sometimes, Eliot.” He moved his bishop again. “Check.”

Eliot didn’t flinch away from that penetrating gaze. “I always know exactly where my place is.” He moved his own bishop into position, springing the trap he’d been carefully laying. “And at this party, it’s protecting you. Check mate.”  
************************  
Three days passed before Eliot was able to manufacture an opportunity to speak privately with Myles Chapman. “Heard you might have something serious.” They were both off duty, playing a quick game of pool in the recreation room of the guards’ barracks.

Chapman froze for a fraction of a second, but recovered smoothly. “Don’t know if I’d call it serious,” he said, taking his shot. The balls ricocheted wildly enough that Eliot knew Chapman wasn’t going to be sinking anything on this turn. “We met at that charity gala I escorted her ladyship to last month – I think she works in the legal department for that trading company Damien’s trying to buy.” He swallowed, and when he looked directly at Eliot, his unease was evident. “Boss-man know?”

Eliot hitched one shoulder negligently as he bent over to line up his own shot. “I heard about it from him, so yeah.” The cue ball struck the six head on, sending the colored ball rolling neatly into the corner pocket.

“Did he say anything specific?” Chapman was trying to act non-chalant, but failing miserably. Eliot didn’t try to soothe him as he lined up his next shot; Myles needed to know what was at stake so he could decide if this ‘relationship’ was worth pursuing.

When he missed his next ball, Eliot straightened up and leaned lightly on his stick. “Let’s just say that there’s a reason you were taken off rotation for the night. Bring her around, let Damien see for himself that it’s not going to be a problem and we’ll all go from there.”  
**************  
Juliana Moreau excelled at two things – spending her husband’s money, and making him look good to his business associates and other wealthy and influential people who moved in the same circles they did. Damien often joked that it was really one thing she was good at, after all making him look good seemed to necessitate spending shattering amounts of his money, but never where the lady herself could hear him.

Three weeks before Christmas, she threw an engagement party for the youngest daughter of an arms manufacturer Damien had been wooing for nearly a year. A veritable ‘Who’s Who’ of European society was going to be in attendance, and over Juliana’s rather strident objections Damien had given permission for his senior staff to attend and to bring guests if they were off duty.

Eliot spent most of the early part of the evening at Damien’s side, only leaving when Juliana insisted that he was the only one who could take care of something for her. The third time it was to retrieve six year old Adrijana Moreau from the duck pond in back of the house. He’d just turned her over to her nurse, and was heading back to Damien, when he realized that Moreau was talking to Chapman and a stylishly outfitted red-haired woman, whose figure at least from behind tugged hard on Eliot’s memory.

Fighting back the urge to run to Damien’s side, to push himself between Moreau and whatever threat the woman might represent, Eliot gradually shifted position until he could get a better look at her face. It was entirely possible he knew her; he knew a lot of Russian woman – but those he did know meant nothing good.

It took him a lot longer than he was comfortable with to find a clear line of sight, but when he did Eliot knew Chapman’s girlfriend immediately. _Fuck._ Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, standing within easy reach of Damien and him none the wiser.

He held his breath waiting to see what she would do, then exhaled softly and forced himself to relax when she let Chapman take her on to the next conversation. _Tactics,_ he thought. _It’s all about tactics._ Black Widow had an agenda in being here. Whatever it was, he needed to out-think her, force her to make a move that wasn’t already part of her plan.

Scanning the crowd, he quickly located Steven – the bodyguard and confidant of Damien’s youngest son. Slipping past people who could buy and sell dozens of him without putting a dent in their wallet, Eliot made his way to the man’s side as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, and was relieved to see that twelve year old Alexander was in the man’s line of sight, talking to a few of his friends from boarding school.

“Get him out of here,” Eliot said softly, plucking at Steven’s jacket sleeve to get his attention. “Quietly,” he warned, seeing a flare of mingled adrenaline and panic in the bodyguard’s eyes. “I’m hoping it will be nothing, but I don’t want the boys around in case I’m wrong.”

“Eliot!” Alexander’s expression was lit with hero worship as he realized who his bodyguard was talking to. The boy ran up to them, and Eliot automatically crouched down until they were on eye level. Unlike his older brother, Alex hadn’t gone through any sort of growth spurt yet. “You have to come meet my friends!”

“Not right now, sport,” Eliot said, looking directly into the boy’s eyes and gripping him firmly by the shoulders. “We might have some trouble – I need you to go with Steven now, and I need you to make sure your sister stays with you and your brother until I come and tell you everything’s okay.” 

He could see the beginning of refusal in the boy’s expression and shook his head. “You want to know how you can help me, Alex – this is how. You know Jules isn’t going to be able to keep your sister calm like you can. I need somebody I trust looking out for her upstairs.”

There was a tense moment where Eliot suspected he was going to have a fight on his hands, then the boy’s shoulders slumped. “Will you meet my friends some other time?” he asked, his voice suddenly small and quiet.

Eliot smiled at him. “It’s a promise.” He paused, mind already moving onto the next problem. “Where’s your brother?”

Once all three children were secured, Eliot scanned the living room again. Chapman was talking to two of the other guards, and Damien and Juliana were in the center of a throng of powerful people close to the middle of the room.

There was no sign of the Black Widow.

Adrenaline flooding his system, Eliot grabbed the wrist of one of the off-duty guards as he passed. “Did you see the woman Myles brought with him?”

Piotr looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “She went out onto the patio. Something about feeling light-headed?”

 _The patio._ Where Damien’s daughter had been playing not thirty minutes earlier. Stopping the fantasies of how horribly wrong things could have already gone in their tracks, Eliot fixed Piotr with a glare. “Grab one of the others, and the two of you stick to Damien and the missus. Chapman and his date aren’t to get anywhere near them, do you understand me? I don’t care how messy it gets.”

Eyes wide, the man nodded. Eliot gave him a small shove in the right direction, and then continued out onto the porch. He was going to hear about the order to keep Chapman at arm’s length, but if they came through the night intact he felt absolutely comfortable defending his actions. Spy…master assassin…he’d crossed paths with Natasha Romanoff on two separate occasions before settling into his new life with Damien and neither occasion had ended well.

If somebody had hired her to go after Damien, Eliot was determined to see that this encounter ended definitively in his favor.

Later, when he had time and space to review the events of the next handful of moments, he would realize that his fear for Damien and his family had pushed him into a rookie mistake. He’d come out onto the patio already scanning for his target, but it had never once occurred to him that she would be waiting for _him._

Or that she would be able to get close enough to spray her “Widow’s Kiss” full into his face.  
****************  
When he finally managed to claw his way back to consciousness, Eliot had no idea where he was. Close fitting manacles bound his wrists together behind his back, and a high-tension fiber line fastened those cuffs to the matching set that bound his ankles together.

Movement across the dimly lit room drew his attention. Natasha was in the process of changing out of her evening gown and into her work clothes, her magnificent body seemingly carved out of the shadows and shaped with what little light was available. “Now you’re being mean,” he said – holding no illusions that she thought he was still unconscious.

She laughed. Eliot winced, realizing it was the same laugh she’d used the first time they’d met, before he really knew what he was up against, and before she’d handed him his ass in the process of making off with a high value target. “Consider it your consolation prize for walking so obligingly into my web.”

He closed his eyes with a groan. “You weren’t after Damien.”

Natasha finished dressing and strolled back to his side. “Yes and no.” Toeing over one of the rickety folding chairs, she sat down and leaned forward – clasping her hands in front of her. “Taking you on has been one of the best and worst things Moreau has done in the last handful of years. He has an impressive threat now to keep his enemies in line, but he’s come to rely on you too much.”

“You’re overestimating how important I am to him,” Eliot said flatly, although he knew the Black Widow’s available resources as well as she knew his. “And I don’t believe you’re going to kill me; you would have done it already and skipped the peep show.”   
He’d confused her. It was a small victory, but at this point Eliot knew he’d take what he could. “I have never understood your modesty,” she said at last. “Everyone who has studied you knows that the most effective way to cut Moreau’s throat right now is to take you out of play.”

Eliot knew he couldn’t pretend she was wrong, and he vowed to change that as soon as he was free. “You’re still not going to kill me,” he repeated.

His heart sank as he realized she was looking at him with pity in her eyes now. “Given who’s paying me to deliver you, I suspect before it’s over you’re going to wish I had.” The admission was a calculated one, intended to make him nervous, make him wonder which of his and Damien’s very long combined list of enemies had deep enough pockets to pull something like this off.

What she hadn’t realized was that Eliot had used his position in Moreau’s organization to extend and expand his own intelligence base. And when somebody like the Black Widow defected from the country and the people who had made her, it couldn’t be kept quiet. “So what now? You turn me over to the guys in the black suits and they drop me in a hole somewhere until the world forgets about me?”

He tried to keep his tone light and unconcerned, but the Widow’s expression stilled – becoming as coolly unreadable as he’d ever seen it. “I think that really bothers you,” she said after an impossibly long time, “the idea that you might leave this world forgotten, with no one left to mourn for you.”

Eliot pulled reflexively against his bonds. It was an instinctive reaction – the restraints were as tight as ever. Natasha Romanoff was the best at what she did – this wasn’t a battle he could win on brute strength. “Everyone likes to think they’ll be remembered,” he said finally, discarding his first, more sarcastic response. “Even you, I’ll bet.”

He’d surprised her. It wasn’t an obvious tell, but even in the dim light he caught the slight widening of her eyes. Out loud all she said was, “You know I am the third to bear the title of Black Widow, Spencer. Plenty may celebrate when I’m gone, but no one will mourn me.”

 _Sacrifice of self in service to an ideal._ It was a mindset Eliot was deeply familiar with, something he’d walked away from years ago. He served people now, a man who valued him for his uniqueness, who encouraged him to stand out from the crowd of guards, assistants and hangers-on that moved around them in an endless sea of impeccably tailored suits and top of the line weaponry. It was more satisfying in the long run, but he couldn’t deny the seductive nature of Natasha’s way of doing things.

“So now what?” he asked. “If you’re not dropping me in some secret SHIELD-run prison, why all the song and dance?”

The redhead’s gaze shifted idly to a nearby window before coming back to focus on him. “The extraction team should be here within the hour. Once that happens, where you end up will depend on the answers you give and how well they are received by those asking the questions.”  
************************************  
She saw the resignation spread across his handsome features, and something in Natasha’s gut unclenched for the first time since she’d entered Damien Moreau’s stronghold. While she had little doubt as to her ability to contain Spencer on her own – and had argued as much to Fury, Clint and Coulson – it was nice not to have to be on high alert every second.

That wasn’t to say she believed he had abandoned the idea of escape. Far from it. Eliot Spencer would use what time he had wisely and well, and when he did make his move it would be a challenge worthy of her time and skill set.

Moving into the small kitchen area of the one room apartment, she filled a kettle with water and set it on to heat. _He really doesn’t see himself as a high value target._ The awareness was like an itch under her skin; something she could scratch at forever and never quite completely get on top of. He understood _now_ why they’d done what they did, but she could tell he still didn’t believe he had value beyond a means to get to Moreau.

 _Typically it’s their pride that proves their undoing._ The irony wasn’t lost on Natasha.

Silence held the room as Natasha moved about, preparing her tea. When the kettle finally whistled she thought for half a second about offering her prisoner the chance for something to drink, but ultimately decided against it. If Spencer wanted anything, best for everyone if he was forced to ask her for it.

“I understand why you exposed Damien like you did,” Spencer said, speaking at last as she resumed her seat at the small table. “It’s smart. He has children, though, and anyone motivated enough to come after him isn’t going to be the kind of person to spare them.”

He had twisted around in his bonds so that he could watch her reaction. Natasha didn’t give him one, idly toying with her spoon as she waited for the tea to steep. “I’ve killed children,” she said, meeting his gaze after several long moments. “So have you.”

It had been the buzz of the underworld at the time – a lethal virus released into a clinic, killing everything in its path. Children had been among the dead; those in a position know and to comment had agreed the mindless slaughter of innocents had only served to drive Moreau’s point home more completely.

“The doctor on call had been awake for thirty-six hours,” Spencer said, his voice curiously flat. Natasha raised an eyebrow quizzically – was it possible after all this time and all this bloodshed that Moreau’s chief enforcer was experiencing regret? “He mishandled the virus. It was nothing more than a tragic accident.”

“My victims all died by my hand,” Natasha told him, her voice absolutely calm now. “It was the only way to ensure they did not suffer any longer than necessary.” She took a sip of her tea, watching as Eliot processed her very deliberate qualification. It was an unbreakable truth of the world they moved in – sometimes, no matter how much you might wish otherwise – suffering was a necessary part of the job.

“SHIELD has to know I’m not going to give them anything on Moreau,” Spencer said. “I won’t betray him.”

Natasha took another sip of her tea. “Admirable. Also not relevant. Director Fury is not one to waste resources, so you will probably receive an offer similar to the one they made me. Beyond that, you already did the hard work for us as far as bringing Damien Moreau to heel. SHIELD never needed your intel. They just needed your absence.”


End file.
